


Light and Shadow

by psychobabblers



Category: DCU, Justice League (2017), Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, First Kiss, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 03:07:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13262331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychobabblers/pseuds/psychobabblers
Summary: Clark thinks about death and life and love. And also Bruce... actually, mostly just Bruce.





	Light and Shadow

Clark barely remembered the first day of his coming back to life, truth be told, and definitely not the time he’d actually been dead. It was all anyone could ask him about for weeks, interviewers and Justice League members alike. He tried to say as little as possible without giving any particular religious group more ammunition, and some people actually accused him of deliberately withholding information.

Bruce had shrugged a little when he mentioned it to him one night when they were reviewing some plans for the future of the League. It was just the two of them tonight; Diana had a previous engagement. Clark had feared it might be awkward but Bruce didn’t say much and tended to melt into the shadows.

“People will always misinterpret what you say,” Bruce said. “Deliberately or not.”

Clark supposed that was true. Even though he worked in journalism and not in the other kind of “journalism”, he was still plugged into the high society gossip that was Bruce’s other life. And Bruce was a master of creating misinterpretations. More than once he’d heard some colleague or other wonder if Bruce was actually just playing all of them like puppets before talking themselves back into believing the persona again.

He rarely joined in on conversations like that anyway, out of respect for his teammate. It was odd—he spent more time with Bruce than anyone else it seemed, and yet they rarely spoke a word to each other beyond work.

But still it felt odd just calling him “teammate.” They were something different, something more. A mix of friend and comrade, someone he had gone into battle with and bled and died with.

And, importantly. Bruce didn’t look at him any different just because he’d come back to life. No hero-worship or disgust or hope for salvation or horror. No, Bruce’s gaze was always steady and sharp, and he saw the otherness that was Clark Kent, newly risen from the dead, and his eyes never wavered.

“Are you alright, Clark?” Bruce asked.

His skin shivered at his voice, the way it always almost caressed his name.

“You never asked me about death,” he said.

Bruce looked down. “If you mean the part I played—”

“No,” Clark cut in. “You know I’ve forgiven you and will continue to forgive you for as many times as you need.”

Bruce’s mouth twisted a little and Clark knew the unsaid words, that Bruce would never forgive himself. It was a failing of his that Clark had noticed. Here was a man, utterly selfless, who had given and helped and inspired, and still could not see himself as a good man.

But he had begun this conversation about death, and Batman did not deal in Death.

“The World’s Greatest Detective,” he said with a smile. Bruce’s eyes crinkled a little at the corners at that. “I’m just surprised you haven’t asked me about it at all. What it was like.”

“Did you want to talk about it?” Bruce asked, curious.

“Not really,” Clark said and Bruce gave him a searching look before turning his attention back to the papers in front of him. “But I mean, aren’t you curious?”

“I suppose so,” Bruce said reluctantly, as if he had failed Clark in some way by admitting it. “But it’s obvious you don’t want to talk. And it’s all anyone ever asks you.”

“Yes,” Clark said. “The truth is, I don’t remember any of it. I remember dying, and then I remembered waking up again. It was like I’d just gone to sleep, almost.”

Bruce’s expression did something complicated at that, something close to pain. He wondered if Bruce would understand if he told him the rest, that he felt something empty inside him now, and he didn’t know if it was just because he’d lost his soul or something ridiculous in the process. He was looking at Bruce about to ask him, when something about the solemness in his eyes made him press his lips to his instead.

He felt Bruce stiffen in shock and he had a brief moment of panic mixed with amusement that he’d actually manage to catch Batman off guard, before Bruce was kissing him back.

Bruce tasted like life itself, gentle and sweet, and Clark suddenly wanted him like he’d wanted nothing else in his life. As if he sensed his desire, Bruce deepened the kiss, and the combination of gentle and fierce and the hint of something terrifyingly like love made Clark’s very being tremble.

Anyone who thought Bruce was a dark and shadowy being had obviously never kissed him. Bruce was fire and he was light and he was life itself and as Clark kissed him the remnants of the otherness were burned away and he felt reborn.

They were both gasping by the time they finally broke apart. “What was that?” Bruce asked, and Clark was startled by the naked vulnerability in his eyes. He needed to kiss it away, to show Bruce what was in his heart and make him understand that Bruce was what Clark needed all along to fill that aching emptiness inside him.

“You already know,” Clark murmured, leaning in again, and Bruce’s eyes lightened with understanding. 


End file.
